s doing. He must have been
watching us, and set this creature--this animal--to do his work--do what
he wanted. But no: Herr Dale, Herr Saxe, I am puzzled."

"Hooray!" shouted Saxe. "I have it!"

"What!" cried Dale, who was stanching the blood which flowed from his
nose.

"The crystals!" cried Saxe. "They must have hidden them here."

Melchior took a dozen steps farther into the ice-cave, having to stoop
now, and then he uttered a triumphant jodel.

"Come here, herrs!" he cried, holding down the lanthorn. "Look! All
are here."

Saxe darted forward, to be followed more cautiously by Dale, and the
party stood gazing down at the glittering heap of magnificent crystals
hidden there as the least likely place to be searched.

For, as Pierre afterwards confessed, he had heard the plans made as he
stood, on their first coming, in the stable, and then and there
determined to possess himself of the valuable specimens the English
party and their guide might find. In spite of his vacant look, he was
possessed of plenty of low cunning, and he at once secured the dog-like
services of the cretin, who had been his companion in the mountains for
years, and obeyed him with the dumb fidelity of a slave.

The task was comparatively easy, for their knowledge of the mountains in
that wild neighbourhood was far greater than Melchior's. The cretin's
strength and activity were prodigious, and he readily learned his lesson
from his master, with the result that has been seen.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

CLEAR AS CRYSTAL.

Pierre had received so severe a blow from Melchior's axe handle that he
was stunned, and when he came to he was so cowed and beaten that he went
down on his knees, owned to everything, and begged for mercy, with the
result that the miserable inhuman deformity grasped the position, and,
uttering piteous whines and howls, seemed to be imploring mercy, too.

"Look here, Pierre," said Melchior: "I have but to send down to the
village to get a messenger to take a letter to the town, and the police
will fetch you to prison."

"No, no," pleaded the culprit, and he implored for mercy again in the
most abject terms.

"A year in prison would do him good, herr," said Melchior. "He is no
Switzer, but a disgrace to his country. We Swiss are honest, honourable
men, and he is a thief."

Pierre fell on his knees, and began to ask for pity again. "Get up,
dog!" cried Melchior; and turning from him he began to untie the